


Sympathy for Monsters

by Maesonry



Series: Daybreaker [3]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/F, F/M, Horror, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 20:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15826134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maesonry/pseuds/Maesonry
Summary: Survivors are prey. Killers hunt. But Survivors are no cornered animal, lashing out. They are clever, and they will plan, and they will take what the Killer has and turn it against them.The Killer will die.But love is blind. And you will do whatever it takes to protect the one you love.Reader/Various Killers





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll probably be adding more killers as the mood strikes me, despite it being marked completed. That might mean one in a few months, or never. Who knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introduction chapter. Read this before selecting a Killer chapter

Burnt wood, smoke. Campfires in your memory always smelled like that, but here, sitting around the campfire, you wondered if you were wrong. Here, it smelled like ash- the kind that stuck to the clothes, just faint enough that no one noticed (or maybe didn’t think about it too hard). But not you, though; your clothes only held the scent of something else, something intangible, definitive. 

“ _A Killer. They smell like a Killer.”_

None of the other Survivors knew why, not really. They all had different guesses, and some of them had asked- but you never told them, just shrugged. You knew what they thought, though. Some shrugged just like you, and didn’t care. Some looked at you with sympathy and pity- “ _What do they do to you?_ ”- but others, their eyes said enough, said _better you than me_ , and you couldn’t blame that. And there was the rare few, with suspicion, narrowed eyes, that muttered and wondered, “ _Maybe they can’t be trusted._ ”

None of them were right. Some of them were more right than others. But no one ever guessed your dark secret. After all, why would anyone guess that you were in love with a Killer?

You all sat around the campfire, the light casting ominous, reaching shadows across the ground. The forest on the edge of the clearing seemed to groan forebodingly, covered by fog, and you couldn’t help but cast occasional glances to it- the others that were in the Trial had yet to come back. If they died, they wouldn’t be back for a while, but they’d be back. Death was not an escape. And so, you returned your attention to the campfire. You missed the smell of burning, crackling wood. You ignored the feeling of agitation in the pit of your stomach, and you knew that the others did the same- everyone tried to pretend it was a camping trip. No one talked about when others went missing. 

Well. Not usually. But there was something in the air tonight (or today, you never knew), some awkward feeling that drifted lazily to and fro. It wasn’t anxiety, but it was something close. Trepidation. Apprehension. Your hands bunched on your thighs. The others glanced around.

Finally, one spoke.

“I have an idea,” Dwight stated. His voice was nervous, like he was afraid something was listening- that wouldn’t be entirely unfounded. But here, you all were safe, and so several other Survivors leaned in, and looked at him with curiosity. You, though, you only felt that pit in your stomach grow.

 _Run_ , your instincts whispered, _hide_.

You poked at the feeling, but it didn’t reveal anything more, didn’t say anything else. So you sat with it, letting it sink like curdled milk, sticking to your heart and cinching your throat closed. 

“What kind of idea?” Meg asked, her voice low, but her eyes shining with intrigue . A few others nodded, interested. You wanted to ask as well, but your questions were half-formed, and all seizing up. 

“Well, t-the Killer… the Entity isn’t watching right now. And the Killers are resting…” Dwight shuffled his hands together, “What if we… what if we attacked a Killer?”

An uproar. Well, more like a chorus of heated whispers- which might as well have been an uproar here. Jake’s discontent, “You can’t be serious”, Claudette’s worry, “Is that safe?”, Meg’s anger, “You think we haven’t tried?”, but one voice broke out on top.

“Why not?”

Everyone turned to look at David. And while his eyes and face still held the usual bluster and bloodlust, his voice was entirely serious, “I say it, why not?” and before anyone could try and make a counter argument, he continued, “We’ve never tried, that right? Never like this. I say, why not? ‘S right, we could sneak in, yea? When the others get back, we go after that Killer.”

And there was a surprisingly quiet murmur of agreement from everyone there. That it was a plan, a crazy one, yes, but for once, it was fuel. A fuel, a burning beacon of hope, of desire, to fight and to change. To do _something_. You even found yourself agreeing, because why wouldn’t you? Dare to try. But the feeling in your stomach had turned into a hurricane of ice shards, ripping and tearing across your body. It screamed and thrashed inside your soul. Why?

Movement. You looked back up, having been lost in your confusion- and, by the look of the fire and the conversations around you, you’d been thinking for more than a few minutes. You could see pockets of other Survivors, discussing their plan in depth, and you felt some frozen, metaphorical hand close around your throat as you watched two Survivors return from the fog of the forest, back from their Trial. 

“The Killer’s hurt. Kate and Tapp managed to get them- palettes, or something, before, before they died…” One of the Survivors (fresh from the Trial) stated, injured, dazed and lost in the way that everyone back from a Trial was. They were hurried away, brought close to the fire with the others. 

“Which Killer was it?” Dwight asked, his stance held weakly high, nervous leader. And when the others answered, “it was-” you finally knew why your body was trying to warn you. 

Because the Killer was your Killer. The one you loved. The one that loved you. And as the others nodded grimly, and a few prepared to leave, you were thrown into a panic. They stood at the edge of the forest, and they said a few quiet words, and it looked like a funeral procession in your mind, as they left on some brave and foolish quest. To kill a Killer. You noticed, distantly, that you’d stood up, and had begun to follow, without a plan in mind. None of the other Survivors gave you anything more than a passing nod, assuming you were going to help, and so that was how you crossed the fog barrier of the forest and stepped into the darkness, following a trail you knew by heart, the smell of campfire ashes lingering.

To find the Killer you loved more than anything, to try and save them before it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t seem to resist writing these. I have an entirely separate one planned too already, heck


	2. The Shape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haddonfield always seemed to be wreathed in the Dying Light of autumn.

If anyone asked- and they never would- you’d tell them that you couldn’t remember the exact moment you fell in love with Michael Myers. But you could remember the feeling of love that came afterwards, and the knowledge that he loved you too. It wasn’t some perfect love, but it was love, and that was something, at least here.

And so you ran through the forest. You sprinted, throwing yourself down the worn-down path, feet slamming through swaths of fallen leaves, not even pausing as you leapt over felled logs or rocks. You had to be fast, because if you weren’t, then you wouldn’t make it in time to warn Myers. He might be able to kill without worry, but when the Entity wasn’t watching, when he was hurt and wasn’t aware… that’s why you kicked up your pace. The forest became a blur of motion, colors blending together dizzyingly, the leaves falling like the blizzard of ice that clenched your heart. 

“Michael!” you shouted, voice scratching out of your throat, “Michael!” hoping that he was close enough, that _you_ were close enough, deep enough in the forest that Haddonfield would come out the other side in moments. No, it wouldn’t work, and yet you kept trying. You had to. Failure wasn’t an option. 

The distance between the campfire and Haddonfield was never concrete, always shifting based on what the Entity wanted, but the halfway point was always the same: a stream, and then after that, a steep cliff marked the end. Water splashed on your legs as you stopped suddenly, and you realized you were on the bank of the stream. An anxious smile overtook your face, but then it dropped, as you took in the sight of the stream. Normally, you’d take the slow path, balancing across the fallen log that served as a bridge. But now, that wasn’t an option. You shifted your weight from foot to foot, and then grit your teeth, tossing away caution lie a shroud, and throwing yourself into the water. 

“Michael!” your voice chased itself through the forest, as you began to wade through the water. It was cold, but not bitterly, not enough to even make you slow down. Arm motions shoved the water away, and your breaths came in fearful gasps- you were nearly through the rapids, and after the water was the cliff. Your clothes stuck to your skin as you finally broke the stream edge, coming onto the bank, but you didn’t stop to think about the cold, or the weight- just kept running. Had to keep going. The others couldn’t have gotten far, but maybe the forest had shifted for them, maybe the Entity had played a trick. But the way the Fog thrashed around underfoot told a different story. 

The cliff was coming up. You could see it, had seen it a hundred times before when you snuck away to visit. There was a slow but safe path to the left, some handholds and an easy drop. But it took _time_ , and with the way the darkness and the shadows pressed down over you, some blanket of agitation, you knew you didn’t _have_ time. Thinking quickly, and working to keep your speed, you transformed your movement into a partial slide, letting it carry you over the edge. Thankfully, the cliff was just angled enough that it worked, as your heel dug into the ground and your hand held behind you held you steady. Unfortunately for you, the drop off near the bottom wasn’t so smooth. Another risk, as you took it in a balanced landing- and tumbled as you landed, the movement inelegant and ugly. Not to mention painful. But bouncing back to your feet was easy enough, and it only took a moment for you to orientate yourself before you realized where you were: Haddonfield. 

A smile stretched across your face. You could see, through the broken fence and past the trees, the Myers house. One of the windows was lit up, too. It was almost enough for you to miss the smell in the air. But you didn’t. After all, the ashy, lingering scent of the campfire wasn’t something you could ignore. It lingered stubbornly, just faint enough to be shuffled away by a breeze blowing past. But only other Survivors smelled like the campfire. And that meant that you were too late.

“No,” you hissed, jolting forward, “No!” and the fence was easy enough to hoist yourself through, pushing the boards aside and frantically looking around. Maybe they were hiding in one of the houses. There was still time, there had to be. Or, or, of course, Michael was strong, there was no way they could’ve got to him, 

That’s what you told yourself. But that same pit yawned dangerously in your stomach, whispering, _don’t ask, don’t ask_. You shivered- from the weight of your cold, wet clothes, you tried to assure yourself. But… the same wind from earlier slid past, and it carried with it the smell of fresh blood. You didn’t bother waiting to try and guess at if it came from a Survivor, or Myers, as you chased the trail like a bloodhound. To the Myers house. Where the lights were still on, but you could see the signs of danger now, that the shadows danced quickly, that there was no perfect silence. You didn’t even have to strain your ears to have the sound of struggle. 

_Michael, _the words stopped in your throat, unfinished, as you faltered at the porch. You wanted to call out to him (are you okay, are you alright) but you couldn’t… couldn’t afford to distract him. Couldn’t attract the others attention. So you clammed up the words, and bounced up the wooden steps, towards the front door (thrown open, careless). Across the living room, you could see an ominous puddle of blood- one of the other Survivors? You didn’t see a body, you didn’t slow down, you just focused in on any sounds in the house. Where?__

____

____

___Thud_. Upstairs. You tore your attention away from the red stain, and snapped to look up the stairs, your breath keen and precise. Another _slam_ , shaking the paintings on the wall, and you jumped up the first step, then to the third, the fifth, your movements booming, but not nearly as loud as the noises from upstairs, the _shing, slice, thunk, slam, thud, stomp_ that moved and stumbled and then… as you clambered up the final stair, there was one, final, muffled _thud_ , from Michael’s room. The whites of your eyes grew, then shrunk, and you bolted for the door, sliding in through the doorway and frantically looking around. _ _

____

____

And you saw two figures, laying slumped over on the ground. The same terrible, restless feeling of icicles in your lungs finally exploded outwards, pricking out of your skin and tearing into your heart, the backs of your eyes, piercing your lungs and then cutting you down where you stood, as you stumbled on your feet. Blood. That was blood under Michael. That was his blood, leaking onto the ground, strewn across the walls, painted onto furniture and staining his clothes. The other person, the Survivor, you mentally cataloged and filed away just as quickly. _Unimportant_. Instead, you pushed forward. 

“Michael?” you whispered, lowering yourself down at his side. The silence was deafening, and you forced more words from your mouth, almost pitiful, “Mikey?” as you reached out a shaking hand (not from the cold, you were afraid) and placed it tremulously down on his chest. No movement. No noise. No breathing. Your eyes widened again, and your hand quickly jumped across his chest, trying to feel for a heartbeat, for breathing, for something, and you could feel your own chest heaving, “Michael?” you demanded, your hand pressing firmly on his throat, the other still on his chest- his blood was staining your skin. You tried, tried to feel for a pulse, but either your hand was numbed or…

“Michael!” you shouted, turning him onto his back, and you were leaning over him then, completely, both your hands on his mask, fearful and forceful and angry, “Michael!” because, no, you were _here_ , he couldn’t be dead, he couldn’t die, that wasn’t fair and that wasn’t _right_. You hated the silence now. Streaks of red left by your fingers spread across the white of his mask, until you let out a guttural noise of loss and anguish, yanking the mask off and leaning in as close as you could. Your body draped over him like a shroud. Two utterly shaking hands held the sides of his face, as you searched for some secret sign, something to tell you that he was alive. But his eyes didn’t open. He didn’t stir. 

You slowly closed your eyes, and lowered your forehead to his, without a sound. The stifling lack of noise felt like a tomb, and you rose a hand with trepidation, resting it in Michael's hair. A hundred different things to say came to mind, but they were intangible, wispy like bits of fog. You didn't know what to do now. What could you do? He was dead. He was…

“He’s dead?” a voice behind you asked, disturbing the silence. You startled, but kept yourself hunched protectively over Michael. You almost mistook the voice for your _conscience_ \- which would’ve been hilarious at any other time, but now all you could do was let out a surprised noise that was strangled into silence. The voice didn’t seem to notice, as they continued, “You killed him!”

They sounded gleeful. And maybe you should’ve been too- because Myers had killed before, and would kill again- but your mind narrowed with an almost animalistic anger , the depths of sorrow transforming into unspeakable rage . You yanked the knife from Michael’s hand, whipping around, coming face to face with the other Survivor. The last one. So of course it was Dwight. He didn’t seem to notice the look of murder in your eyes, or any of the warning signs. He smiled encouragingly, “You did it! He’s dead, you did it!” 

_Shut up_ , you wanted to say. You didn’t kill him. It wasn’t your fault. You tried your best, you ran as fast as you could (but what if you could’ve been faster, what if you weren’t good enough). But you couldn’t get the words to form properly. You could only stand up on shaking legs, stare daggers at the coward before you, someone who would come in and kill his enemy while they slept, at their weakest, a rat stealing away in the dead of night.

“I just…” Dwight laughed. It was a nervous laugh, as he turned around, looked out the window, “I- I can’t believe you killed Michael Myers-”

He never got to finish his sentence. A scream of rage and despair, and the whiz of a knife flying through the air, and then… Dwight Fairfield joined his fellow Survivors. And that just left you, standing there, one hand gripping the knife tight enough to bruise, the other still held behind yourself. Your breathing came in quiet huffs. Cautiously, you lowered the knife, wiping away some of the blood from the side of your face, as you looked down at what you’d just done- you’d just killed someone. A real person. He’d come back, he wouldn’t know it was you that did it, but you knew. And… and you didn’t care. You stared at the blood on your hands, the blood staining your clothes...

The glint of the knife shifted in your hand- someone behind you, and you spun around on your heel, suddenly baring your teeth like a predator, raising the knife. And Michael simply tilted his head at you. 

You dropped the knife.

“Michael?” your voice sounded like a squeak, and you didn’t bother hesitating as you rushed forward, only barely stopping from tackling him- he was bleeding. Still bleeding. Bleeding badly, actually, and you choked, “Oh my god. Sit down, hold on, I can help, hold on,” as you lead him to the ground, your mind running with a hundred different things to do and help. The knowledge of the bodies in the room slipped away, unimportant once again. But… but Michael actually smiled at you, the ghost of a smile, his eyes quiet and tired. And, if even only for a second, you felt… you knew that everything would be alright. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip dwight. died as he lived: dumbass


	3. The Huntress

If there was one saving grace about the forest, it was that it was as familiar to you as the back of your own hand. The moment the fog swallowed up the treeline behind you and you began to run, it felt… safe. Oak trees were replaced by redwoods, by Cyprus, with evergreen pines and needles laying in piles near the base. Not safe enough for you to want to stop and rest, because you were running for a reason, and that reason was the Huntress: Ana.

You could remember meeting her, if anyone felt stupid or brave enough to ask. Which they wouldn’t, because if there was one thing you knew well enough about your fellow Survivors, it was that half of them were cowards and the other half didn’t care. Well. Maybe that wasn’t exactly true. Some had earned your tentative respect; it was just that most of the times, your _friends_ were more likely to hide in a locker than face the Killer.

Maybe Ana was rubbing off on you. Either way, you sloughed the feeling of irritation away, continuing to rush forward without pause- a deft leap over a downed log, a turn to avoid a ravine, the sight of your breath fogging up in the air. Everything smelled damp, like earth, humid with the rains of spring. Sprigs of wildflowers were crushed underfoot. You just had to run fast enough through the forest, to make it to Ana in time, before the other Survivors. Someone else might not have been able to catch up to them, but, well, you _knew_ the forest, so running was easy. 

Soon, you could hear the unfamiliar sound of other people walking through the forest, their steps uncertain. You slowed down your run to a jog, quiet enough that you could pass them without notice, make your plan easier. But maybe you should have been paying attention to the slick ground, freshly rained, the loose soil, because as you tried to slow down, you found you couldn’t. And suddenly you were tumbling. You landed with a muffled noise, and shot up just as quickly, but not soon enough.

“What was that?”

You cursed, and without wasting a second, began to run- maybe you’d be able to outpace them, if you were fast enough, lose them in the forest. But maybe you shouldn’t have bolted, because then, the sounds of pursuit, the waft of campfire smoke, following after you. Not the best situation. You leapt over another felled log, and smiled viciously at the sound of others stumbling, only for your face to warp with surprise as a shape leapt out of the brush beside you- rushing straight at you-

A crash, as you both collided, and you were tackled to the ground, one resounding thud muffled by pine and brush. Your head was spinning, but you had enough sense to already struggle, trying to get away and scurry off. It didn’t work. 

“Let me go!” you thrashed, with little luck. Already, you could hear the other Survivors closing in, “Son of-”

“I got it- them!” the person, Jake, shouted, successfully pinning you to the dirt, like an unruly bear. You turned your head just enough to look betrayed, and Jake’s face was awash with surprise, as he continued, “Wait, it’s-”

From the treeline, David and Nea appeared. Your expression morphed to one of dismay. Jake eased up, but you knew that if you tried to bolt now, you’d just be stupid. The air was thick with the ugly smell of campfire smoke, saturated with Cyprus and bark. You could feel the damp soil against you, and occasionally, a flick of rain. Still, you spared a flat look for all of them. Nea didn’t look impressed. But David, well.

“You!” David smiled, leaning down and extending a hand, “You son of a bitch, didn’t see ya with us.”

Roughly, you accepted his help and hauled yourself from the ground, dirt clinging to you. David. He was, really, one of the few Survivors that had your respect. You’d seen him try to punch a Killer once. Which was why it didn’t surprise you that he’d been the one to lead the charge against the Huntress, always eager for a fight, take a few hits for friends. Were you his friend? Probably. Your eyes panned over the Nea and Jake- feeling Nea’s suspicion, Jake’s cautious surprise.

“I, decided to join you guys,” you finally offered. It was truthful, mostly, except for the part where you’d joined them to try and get rid of them, and now you were stuck. David appraised your words for a second, before accepting them. Another thing you liked about him: he wasn’t stupid, but he always trusted his friends. 

“Sorry for tackling you,” Jake offered, voice the usual, semi-subdued tone. You nodded. You liked Jake; he was resourceful. And he didn’t ask questions.

Nea, not so much.

“Why’d you run?” Nea tilted her head, “Got something to hide?”

And for that one, you didn’t really have an answer for. Because the answer was yes, but that definitely wasn’t something to admit. Your hesitation was one second too long, as you replied, “No, just got scared.”

Nea was resourceful, too- you respected that. But right now, that meant you were about to become a resource. 

So really, as Nea stared at you, all you could think was, ‘yikes’.

“I think you can help us,” Nea decided. You blinked in a way that you hoped didn’t reveal your dismay. Nea continued, “We could use some bait.”

Bait. 

“Sounds fun,” you sighed. Both you and her knew that you couldn’t really say no without incriminating yourself. And you couldn’t blame her. Survivors survive, and if this were any other Killer, you’d jump at the chance to get rid of them too, no matter the cost. At least if Ana killed you, she’d be quick. Jake gave you a look of sympathy, but didn’t make any move to try and intervene on your behalf. 

David, though, was another story entirely. 

“Oi, what,” David protested, “We’re usin’ bait? I reckon we should use me instead, yea?” always bristling at the chance to protect his friends. You grunted in a way that dismissed him.

“Come on, let’s get going,” and then, the four of you set out again, this time at a much slower pace than you would’ve liked. At least they hadn’t tied you up. And it wasn’t like it would be hard to get away from them when they tried to initiate their plan. You managed to brush away your worry for Ana with vague unrest at the entire situation- most of your worry. Not all of it, as the words from earlier nagged at you, that she was maybe injured. The rest of the trek was made in relative silence. Finally, though, you could smell the forest strongly, as you came to an end near the treeline, feel the air fill your lungs in a way that spoke of home; you’d arrived. 

Sounds. Far away, far enough that no one else might notice: Ana was singing. She only ever sang when she felt relaxed, and that sparked some flicker of relief that, maybe, she was ok. You let your shoulders shift, while the others scanned the forest, focusing on the wooden smokehouse.

“We gonna run for it?” David asked, looking to Nea and Jake. Nea shook her head, pointed to the smokehouse.

“We can catch her out. Come on, we can go find a good place to lure her in,” Nea nodded towards the side, and David seemed to accept that, raising up from his slightly crouched position. Nea turned her attention to Jake and you.

“Jake, wait here?” she requested, “Won’t be long.”

You didn’t have to look at Jake to know he nodded too, as Nea stepped back, her eyes still trained on you. She frowned, then sighed.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she grumbled, and you realized you’d been glaring, “It’s nothing against you, just… you know,” she added, a washy hand motion. And with that, she fully stepped away, joining David, walking into the trees and the brush, with the pine needles underfoot. You couldn’t blame her. But then again, maybe they couldn’t blame you for what you’d have to do too. 

The minutes passed in silence. Ana’s voice grew louder at one point, but not close enough that you could hope to get her attention with a shout- at least, not before the others realized what you’d done. Jake was quiet. You could tell he was, maybe, uncomfortable. At one point, he shifted, putting his hands in his pockets.

“I’m,” he paused, “sorry,” he apologized awkwardly, voice still low. You could tell he meant it- at least, mostly. You unclasped your hands.

“Me too,” and then, before you could rethink it, or before Jake could notice, you jumped him, your hands flying at his neck. A struggle, a jab, and Jake didn’t even have time to shout in alarm. At least you were kind enough to grab him as he slumped to the ground, ensnared by sleep. Did you feel bad? Only a little. They couldn’t blame you. 

“Time to move,” you huffed to yourself, glancing around. It wouldn’t be long until David and Nea came back. And so, you bounded out into the trees, towards the brush near the smokehouse. Just in time, only a few minutes later, your ears picked up the sound of branches snapping, footsteps where you’d left Jake, and predictably, the additional sound of discovery.

“Son of a bitch,” Nea hissed, and then began to try and search the immediate area for you. Meanwhile, David rushed to Jake, making sure he was still alive, concerned. 

“He’s okay,” David exhaled, shaking Jake a little, “Concussion?”

“He was attacked,” Nea growled, “And _who_ isn’t here? They broke out.”

“Hey, wait,” David turned his head to the smokehouse, like Ana was still there, “Attacked?... Huntress got ‘em.”

You blinked in surprise.

“No-” Nea attempted, but David was already standing up, starting to the exit, determined.

“I’ll take ‘er down!” and then, David ran out, fueled by that same bloodlust and perseverance that he always had. And that just left Nea, alone with Jake, hypervigilante as she watched the forest.

“I know you’re here!” she nearly shouted, and it was obvious that it was directed at you. The silence was her only reply, before she cursed quietly, and remained with Jake. You gave her a look, before bounding off after David, to Ana. 

Ana was where you expected her, chopping logs- for fire or for practice- and she didn’t look hurt. Or maybe she was hiding it. You looked around, but David was nowhere in sight, so you shouted, “Ana!” 

That got her attention. Her head snapped over to the bush you tumbled out of, and her face was a tentative smile. So with horror, you only noticed far too late that David _was_ there, hiding far away, wielding a bundle of throwing hatchets. And, you watched the one he threw whiz through the air, before you could even try to warn Ana, as it lodged itself in her shoulder with a wet thunk.

Sudden, sharp silence. In quick succession: Ana roared, spinning around to David. David jumped out into the clearing, roaring back. And you shouted into the fray, startled. 

Everything after that was rapid.

Ana grabbed the hatchet from her back, launching it through the air, as it struck the tree right beside David. He threw two, rapidly, but each time, Ana dodged, now prepared, taking the two and sending them right back. You were stuck standing in your spot, unsure what to do. But, then your eyes narrowed, and you grabbed one of the discarded hatchets from the ground. Ana was too busy trying to take out David with an injury (however minor), and trying to make sure he didn’t hit you, that she didn’t notice. And the same for David. 

One shot. You brought your arm back, winding it behind yourself, aiming. Ana had been teaching you. Hopefully that counted for something. Your eyes carefully tracked David, the arc of the hatchet, before you released with a shout. It sailed through the air, whizzing. And, somehow, it worked, striking David in his side. He fell back with a yell, and then silence. Ana spun around, and there wasn’t even a single word before she rushed forward and hugged you. You smiled, suddenly tired, gripping her back.

_Thunk_.

Your eyes flew open. Ana’s face was surprised, then as if a string had been cut, it went slack, her entire body sagging against you. 

“A-ana?!” you struggled to keep standing, and looked over her shoulder to try and see what had happened, only to see David, somehow still standing, another hatchet in his hands. This one was tinted a vague red color, covered with a concoction, and you mouthed the words, ‘yew seed’, in realization. Paralysis. 

So you did the only thing you could think of: yank the hatchet from Ana’s back, and throw it right back. This time, you didn’t bother trying to hope it would hit; you knew it would. Another thunk, as David went down, surprised noise dying on his lips. He’d be fine in a few minutes. And hopefully he wouldn’t even remember that you’d been the one to do it. Working quickly, you helped Ana stand up, looping her arm around your shoulder and struggling. She would be fine too. Already, she was regaining control of her limbs.

And the first thing she did was lean down and rest her head on top of yours. You smiled, your face a little red, from exhaustion, and from something else. Your voice was quiet but meaningful, as you replied.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a Jake main, sorry about this, Jake


	4. The Legion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the Legion are teenagers so the reader is a teenager here as well. And also just really wants a family pls

When you’d turned thirteen, you realized that family was something that you’d never have. Still, you grew up chasing the idea of it, fighting tooth and nail to have it, grasping desperately at the scraps of its memory. 

And oh, you wanted it. But as you got older and older, the chase became less of desire and more of habit. It was a typical sad story, and for you, there was no happy ending. You reflected on this, however briefly, as you flew through the pine forest, the air steadily growing colder, small bursts of snowflakes gradually mixing in. Your feet crashed against the frozen ground, and your breath was rapid, little explosive clouds in the air.

Your story was similar to theirs. Theirs didn’t have a happy ending either, come to think of it. The Legion. Maybe none of you deserved that kind of thing. But at least they’d had each other, while you didn’t have anything. You envied them that. It was that same envy that lead you to them in the end.

A leap, over a felled branch, the pine needles suspended in the banks of snow. Everything was becoming tinged with white and grey, the sky above turning in itself, and your fingers itched for the warmth of the campfire. And speaking of campfire…

Your nose twitched. The smell was close. Ashes and smoke, all tearing through the serenity of the forest. Like a toddler with a paintbrush, creating something messy and ugly without really knowing why. The other survivors were close, then, and that was to be expected, but it didn’t make you any less unhappy. They were going to try and take away your family, after all. The only family you’d ever known, even if you weren’t a part of it. 

The day you’d disappeared from your home, you’d been skipping class, chasing after a rumor of a rumor, fighting tooth and nail for a scrap of it. That some kids had formed a gang, and they were as close as could be- then one day, they’d just disappeared. You’d thought, maybe they’d left the town. Maybe they’d finally made it. And you wanted to make it too, you wanted whatever they had, and you let that feeling fester in your heart till everything else rotted out. But when the Entity took you, you weren’t what it expected. You weren’t a Killer, and you weren’t a Survivor. Something in between. You thrashed and screamed, “It’s not fair!” And it wasn’t and that was how life always went. No happy ending. You were stuck with the other Survivors, and that bitter, rotting feeling spread throughout your entire body, eating away at you until one day-

Until one day-

You were going to _snap_.

_Snap_ went the twig under your feet. Oops. Still, you kept running, letting the bits of snow slice past your face, until finally, you came to your destination: a sheer cliff. Down below, you could see Mount Ormond, and the little ski resort that came with it. An exhale, and your crouched, narrowing your eyes against the wind and trying to pick out where the other Survivors might be. Had to be careful. You caught a whiff of that smoke again, and then, there, to the left. Behind the rocky hill, the edge of some clothes, the top of some hair. You’d spent enough hours on the edge of the campfire to know that it was Feng, and Bill, and Tapp. 

Your face freaked with a deep frown. These were the sneakiest Survivors, but also strong. So they were planning on catching one of the Legion out, then. The weakest link would go. 

The weakest link. Even though you weren’t a part of their family, you’d been watching the Legion enough to know them well. Frank cared for Joey, and Julie cared for Susie, and Joey and Susie cared for each other and Frank and Julie cared for each other and… 

Your eyes snapped to the ski lodge, to the right. Weak, weak; Joey or Susie. Whatever one was already hurt. That bitter taste welled up in your mouth, coiling around your throat again, bitter, oh so bitter. You just wanted a family. You wanted what they had, but you weren’t allowed, you weren’t enough, and that wasn’t fair. 

But you wouldn’t let them suffer because of your jealousy. You spent enough time watching, enough time stalking, waiting, hoping, that you weren’t going to just stand by and let this happen. Come hell or high water, they would keep their happy ending. It didn’t matter how.

Dropping down the cliff would be hard. But, you were used to this, and so you just shucked out a single breath, turned around, and quickly began your descent. Familiar footholds in the rock made for easy grappling, and the cold was an old comfort, stinging your hands and the exposed parts of your face. The mask was an even older comfort, and you wore it so rarely, but now seemed like a good time. Kept you warm. Kept you hidden. Kept that bitter feeling locked away.

The bottom of the cliff came into view, and you jumped down, taking the rest of the fall with a grunt. The smell of the campfire, again, burning your nose, and you took a moment to center yourself. The lodge wasn’t too far away, and you could easily guess that that’s where the Legion was. And you took your first steps towards it, until a thought occurred to you.

Why would the Survivors go for the one most protected? Because the Legion would of course be busy protecting the one who was hurt, and that meant the other weak link would be outside. Likely alone. 

You changed your course. Crouched partially down, you kept your eyes trained on the horizon, until, finally, bingo. There was Joey. He was standing by a mound of snow, flipping his knife over and over in his hands. Julie, Frank, and Susie were nowhere to be found. He looked like an easy target.

And for the Survivors creeping to surround him, that must’ve been what they thought too. You watched, rooted in place, wanting to reach out and warn him but what would that get you? Survivors that hated you. Dead, by the Killers hands. They owed you nothing and yet you wanted it, wanted to be with them, but it wouldn’t happen. You were stuck. 

Bill nearly blended into the snow, this far away. He was the closest to Joey. Feng was blocking the escape. Tapp was ready as backup. It seemed oddly ruthless to you, that they would kill a teenager. Someone like you. Just because they’d chosen a different side in a battle that didn’t matter. That the Survivors were so bitter (bitter, bitter, _bitter_ ) that they’d inflict their failures onto someone else.

First went Bill. He was nearly silent, and he was a soldier once, so it made sense. Quiet. Joey didn’t scream, couldn’t scream, there was an arm around his neck and another holding his hand behind his back, the one with the knife. Then, you could see Tapp coming in, and Feng was looking at little antsy, and...

Underfoot, a twig. _Snap_ , _snap_. Like your composure. It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fair. That bitter, rotting feeling was there again, eating away at your heart, diffusing through your limbs, reaching your fingers and attacking your hands like a feral frenzy until you were shaking. There was a rusty, warped metal wreckage of something beside you, and you reached out, grabbing the sharpest end and tearing at it until it was freed. The weapon felt light in your hands. You turned to face the Survivors, and then suddenly, you were running. Sprinting. Tapp was the first to notice, and there was that knife in his hand, so that was good. You jumped him with a cry of rage. 

You screamed. The words were formless, as you tried to wrestle the knife away, catching him by surprise. And you did. The knife was thrown to the side, and you were so viciously elated, enthralled, that you rose up your metal shiv and let the dying grasps of sunset catch the edges. It glittered. It funneled all of your bitterness into a single object, fusing, and then you yelled as you brought it down. Tapp dodged, but you just tried again, and it struck his shoulder, and you smiled underneath your face mask. 

But there was a twin cry behind you. A knife whizzed through the air and, oh. Your back. All the air left your lungs in a single noise, and then you slumped to the side, into the snow. Your blood began to pool outwards; wasn’t that strange. It felt so empty, not bitter like your expected at all. You managed to look behind yourself, and you were surprised to see that it was Bill that had done it. He didn’t seem to recognize your face. 

But Joey did. And Joey rose up so sharply, so suddenly, charging at Bill. Feng was trying to help up Tapp, and Bill was holding his own and attempting to get away. Maybe they’d thought they’d killed you. Maybe you were the weakest link. But as you watched Tapp struggle to stand, you decided, no. Your shaking hand grasped the knife stuck in your back, yanking it out, and with a sudden burst of strength that you weren’t sure where it came from, you were on your feet. Tapp didn’t have any time to react before you attacked. Your scream got everyone’s attention, including the other Legion that had run out to see what was happening. Stab. Stab. Stab. You were screaming something, but now, even you couldn’t tell what the words were. Was this what the other Killers did? Let their screams become formless? 

You kept stabbing, even as Bill and Feng ran, and Tapp was dead, dead, dead, letting that bitter feeling leak out of your mouth and onto the ground until it was over. He was dead. You felt… better.

And Joey was staring at you. So was Julie, and Frank, and a limping Susie. Gingerly, you grabbed the knife from Tapp’s body, and extended it towards Joey; it was his, after all. After a moment, he accepted it, and just as you were wondering what you were going to do now, you felt a presence at the back of your mind. The Entity. You’d felt it once before, when you were rejected, and your felt fear at the idea that you were going to be rejected again. Not again. Not this fragment of family that you coveted so fiercely. But the feeling that blossomed wasn’t rejection, but acceptance. Entity Pleased. 

You blinked. A smile, one that threatened to break your face, as Frank held his hand out for you to take. A family. The family that you’d been chasing for so long, and hoping, and wishing. Finally (finally!), a family was yours.

Maybe this was the happy ending you’d been searching for.


End file.
